New Trials
by jades113
Summary: The war on WICKED has only just begun... Takes place after Death Cure, rated M to be safe, violence-wise


**Author's Note: FOREWARNING: This is a very rough, wrote-on-the-spur-of-the-moment story. Sorry for errors and rough writing in general. My plan for it is basically that the Trials aren't over, that they plan on redoing them, sort of, but with Charlie and Theresa and different scenerios. (You'll find out who they are in a second.) Please review!**

**The war on WICKED has only just begun...**

My name is Theresa, after a fallen friend of my father. They'd been extremely close, and though they'd been through a lot, her death had come as a shock, as yet another blow to the man who had endured so much at the hands of the WICKED. I have no last name.

I was born and raised here in our makeshift village of about five hundred people. Sixteen years ago, my father broke about five hundred people out of the WICKED's prison and led them to this green patch of wilderness that no one had known existed. My mother erased our tracks and our people have lived here since, waiting and hiding.

Our short history fascinates me. Almost none of the original village had any kind of weapon or tool when they'd arrived, but it hadn't taken them long to adapt, to set up an eco system and learn to survive. A school had been formed for the children. It was there that my fascination was founded, there that it thrived. It was this small school, on my very first day, that I had first learned my father's story.

He'd been taken by WICKED as a young child, brainwashed into thinking that they were good and then put through terrible, inhumane Trials. But he broke away, and led us here.

Our purpose was to carry on the human race. We were starting over; we needed to cling to education and civilization if we were to make it. We had to be ready to retake over the world eventually. Of course, we knew that we mustn't leave until our youngests' children died of old age. By then the rest of humankind should have all died out.

The Flare causes people to lose their humanity, but they still age, still die when they get too old, if not at the hands of each other first. We were probably immune from the disease, but that didn't make us invincible. So we hid.

I personally thought it ridiculous. Here we were, safely hiding away in tiny village with nothing to live for but duty, while who-knew-what went on in the world. I dreamed of bigger things.

I wanted to get out. If we had escaped and were living alone, starting over, who's to say others weren't doing the same? I was sick of the same people, I wanted more. I wanted to know more people, know more of the world. I wanted to see a _city_. And why shouldn't at least a few cities still exist safely? My parents had visited one city whose security had failed; why shouldn't there be other, healthily populated cities with tighter security? At one time, the world had been _covered_ in cities.

I was only thirteen, but the curiosity ate away at me like my own personal version of Flare, driving me crazy.

"Charlie!" I called to my best friend, his face suddenly hovering over mine.

Charles Newton. My best friend for as long as I could remember, he was the fifteen-year-old son of my father's best friend Minho, who was like an uncle to me.

"Hey Theresa," he greeted me sullenly, lying in the grass next to me.

"So how'd it go with Louise?"

"Just broke it off."

"How'd she take it?"

"She didn't really seem to care," he answered, sounding amused.

"Was that why you broke it off? Lack of affection?"

"Nah, she was annoying. All she wanted to do for fun was cook. And that's all she _could_ do."

"Well, I guess that just goes to show that brains don't always come with beauty."

"You would know," he said, grinning.

"Hey," I sat up suddenly, my nose crinkling in anger, "You know I –"

"Relax, I'm kidding. You're probably smarter than I am." I rolled my eyes, pacified.

"Still, then you're calling me ugly."

"I was kidding, Theresa! You're not ugly."

"Fine."

We fell silent for a bit.

"Charlie?" I asked softly.

"Yeah?"

"I think we should do it tonight."

He sat up abruptly, sucking in his breath.

"Tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Why so soon?"

"You know why; I'm sick of it here. Just think; a whole world out there to explore, and we're stuck here."

"For a reason. We don't even know if we're immune to the Flare – our parents' parents weren't. Maybe it isn't genetic. Plus, we can't forget all the Cranks running around."

"Yeah… but it's not like WICKED still exists. And what kind of life is it, taking no chances?"

"Yes, I know, we've been over all this before." He sighed.

"So are you in or out?"

"In, of course. I just don't see why it has to be tonight."

"Why _not_ tonight?"

"We aren't well prepared."

"Of course we are. Let's go over the plan: we make our way south until we find a city -"

"Or the Scorch -"

"And we approach cautiously. If it seems secure, we try to enter, if not, we assume it's run by Cranks and get out of dodge. Either way we try to steal a Berg. We can do this. It won't take long to pack supplies and tools; I'm all ready."

He shook his head, "You timed this, knowing I'd want to avoid drama from the Louise thing."

I shrugged.

"Bit drastic, but you know I agree with you on the other stuff."

"Exactly."

"Well, then, we'd best get started."

I grinned and hopped to my feet.

* * *

There it was. A city. Towering in the distance, larger than I ever could have imagined. My breathing intensified.

"You okay, there, Theresa?" Charlie asked, grinning down at me.

"Are _you_?" I countered, "We are about to approach the unknown, maybe even our deaths. That doesn't make you nervous?"

"Sure it does," he admitted, and his grin slipped a little.

Without another word, we made our way to the city's tight gates.

We'd traveled for weeks, living off our supplies and the land, hoping that we wouldn't be followed. Escaping without our parents' knowledge had been difficult, but we'd done it. And now here we were. All my dreams just might be about to come true.

Each step closer to the city set my heart rate up another notch.

Finally, finally, we reached the tightly sealed gates.

There were no handles, no buttons, nothing to suggest that there was a way inside.

"Tight security. 'S a good sign." Charlie muttered.

"What do you suppose -" I started, only to be interrupted by a cool female voice, seemingly coming from the wall itself.

"State your business."

Charlie and I exchanged nervous glances.

"Um, well," he started, clearing his throat, "We're here to enter the city. To – er – live."

"Note that if you are a Crank and you enter through these doors, you will die," the same cool voice answered indifferently, and a set of unmarked doors swung open.

Charlie and I almost immediately stepped through, my pulse quickening, questions pounding on my skull. What if they tested us and we weren't immune? Would they shoot us or let us go away, once we told them that we didn't know we weren't? What would the city be like? Was it easy to get a job, to find a place to live? What would the people be like? What -"

Charlie's hand found my back as the doors swung shut behind us and a light flickered on, revealing a large, ominous machine. Neither of us had ever seen much of technology, and certainly never anything like this.

"Wow," Charlie breathed but then the machine started whirring to life.

"You must first be tested for the Flare," the detached voice continued.

I walked over the machine, realizing that it was what would test me, not knowing what to expect. I pressed my face into the mask like I assumed I was supposed to. I jumped when it poked me in the neck and puffed air into my face.

Charlie did the same moments after me.

There was no response from the voice, nor did a door open. We were trapped.

We exchanged worried glances.

"Suppose we're not immune," I whispered, dread coursing through my body.

He opened his mouth to answer as another door on the far end of the room swung open to reveal several menacing-looking men and once woman. I knew somehow, instinctively, that a recording of her voice had been played for us moments ago.

All the newcomers' faces were wary and shocked.

"Munies," one man whispered, as if he had discovered an amazing marvel.

"Where did you say you were from?" the woman asked carefully, taking a few cautious steps toward us.

"We didn't," I answered, "But we're from – a long ways away."

She grunted in acknowledgement, her deep brows contracting thoughtfully. I noted her dirty, worn clothes and her grubby appearance. In fact, all of them seemed that way. Dirty. Worn.

"Well, well, well," she repeated, her emphasis growing with every word.

"Well what?" Charlie asked, getting angry, "Are you going to let us in or not?"

"No one gets in or out of this city, boy. Cranks are killed, the rest turned away."

"Why not us?"

"Because you're Munies. Incredibly rare, you are. There are people who would pay a lot of money for a single Munie, and triple that for two."

"Pay money for us?" I asked indignantly, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I think that this conversation is a waste of time and is over now," she said softly, and nodded at one of her thug companions. He pulled out a fancy gun and pointed it straight at me and Charlie. It was all so surreal, so unlike the rest of life that a part of me couldn't accept what was happening. It wasn't until he pulled the trigger that what was happening was really happening. I watched, dazed, as the dart that shot out hit Charlie in the shoulder. My eyes bulged as Charlie's skin sucked up the dart, leaving nothing but a little knob where it had sunk through his skin.

"Charlie!" I croaked, my heart restarting slowly. I looked into his stricken eyes, watched the panic drain away, watched in be replaced by confusion, and watched his eyes droop shut. I screamed, and didn't even try to duck when the man pulled the trigger a second time.

Pain hit my arm. Sharper pain than I'd ever experienced. I watched, suddenly dazed again, as the mysterious dart disappeared into my arm. I could feel it, under my skin. It seemed to melt, and a feeling of utter calm came over me. Everything was foggy. Everything was going dark. Then I knew nothing.

* * *

The voices came slowly, cutting in and out. Words like _subjects_, _Candidates_, and _Trail_s were clear, but faded into murky oblivion. I felt a glimmer of recognition and a spark of worry, but both faded as entirely as the other words before I could make much sense of them.

My head. My head felt weird. It was a little achy, but mostly just – different. And my thoughts seemed like they shouldn't be as spaced out. I shouldn't be so – confused.

Where was I?

I opened my eyes. Like the sounds around me, my vision was foggy and slowly clearing.

"Elena," a close female voice spoke near me.

My vision cleared a little more. I focused on the person-shaped blob the voice had emitted from.

I realized that I was lying down.

"Lena," the voice repeated. Who was Lena?

"Who?" I croaked.

"You. Elena. You've been asleep awhile."

"Me? I wasn't an Elena… was I?"

"No," I said, squinting as the woman came into better view. I was up on a table of sorts, in an entirely white room. The woman had brown hair tied back in a tight bun, and was also dressed entirely in white.

"Yes. That's the name we've given to you, the name you will be called from here on out."

"But -" My name. They were giving me a name. But I didn't need one – I had one already – didn't I? Why couldn't I quite remember what it was?

"Lena, who are your parents?"

What an odd question to ask.

"Where am I?" I returned.

"Welcome to WICKED Lena. We have great use for you here."

WICKED. Something stirred in my memory. WICKED. My father. Suddenly the image of my father came into my mind. The frightening and animalistic rage that pooled behind his eyes whenever he spoke of or was asked about WICKED. His passionate abhorrence of them.

But WICKED was gone, wiped out by the Right Arm and the Gladers. Weren't they?

"No," I repeated, unable to make anything internally clear.

"Yes. You probably thought WICKED was dead. Indeed, we suffered a tough spot and lost our Final Candidate, along with our other strongest candidates and hundreds of Immunes, forcing the number of immunes to an infestimental amount. They are so very hard to get ahold of. We've had to start over, rebuild, lest there be no way of finding the cure. But Immunes' exclusiveness has brought us to many dead ends. Now - according to your DNA - you are the offspring of not only a brilliant-minded former employee of ours, but of the Final Candidate himself. We find this – interesting. Very interesting."

My head hurt. I could barely think.

Who I was, what I stood for, where I was, what I was doing, all was weirdly – questionable. I wasn't sure of anything. I knew people in my past; the memories were still in there; everything was just dreamlike.

"Yes, well, you must be tired. Only know this: Your name is Elena. You are in an excellent place. You have the power to save millions of lives. Your parents have lied to you; they are not the people you've undoubtedly thought them to be. WICKED is good."

WICKED, good? Was that possible? My father's furious face swam across my mind again.

"They killed people, Lena. Their selfishness caused the destruction of innocent lives, of entire civilizations."

Could it be true? My mother, this time, came into view. Her sparkling eyes and gentle touch. Was it all a lie? At that moment, nothing seemed impossible.


End file.
